Poolside Confessions

The chlorine smell hit me before I even stepped through the gate. Another Tuesday at the rec center pool, another day of pretending I didn't notice how Maya's wet hair stuck to her neck in that way that made my stomach do backflips.

"Yo, Earth to Leo," Jordan snapped his fingers in my face. "We gonna hit the padel court later or what?"

Padel. The sport everyone suddenly cared about because TikTok made it cool. Personally I missed baseball season—the crack of the bat, the dirt, the way time actually meant something instead of this endless summer void. But Maya was learning padel. So suddenly I was into padel.

A cat—a scrawny orange tabby with one ear—streaked past the lounge chairs, chasing a wayward Cheeto. Some sophomore dude yelled "CAT!" like it was a bomb threat, and of course Maya had to be the one to coo at it.

She knelt beside the picnic table, the cat winding around her legs. "His name is Sir Pounces-a-Lot, fight me."

"That's the worst name I've ever heard," I said, and immediately regretted it. Way to sound like a jerk, Leo.

But she laughed. "You got a better one?"

"Cheeto," I blurted. "Because that's literally what he was hunting."

"Cheeto," she repeated, testing it out. "Okay, actually that's kinda perfect." She stood up, wiped her hands on her shorts, and suddenly she was right there. Too close. My brain short-circuited. "Hey, you still coming to my house Friday? My dad finally fixed the cable so we can actually watch movies without it cutting out every five seconds."

Wait. She'd invited me over? To her house? Where her parents would be? This was either a group thing (please let it be a group thing) or I was about to have a heart attack.

"Yeah," I managed, sounding strangled. "Cool. I'll be there."

"Perfect." She smiled, and maybe I imagined it but it looked different than usual. Softer, somehow. "Bring your glove? My little brother's been begging someone to play catch with him and you're, like, the only person who still knows how to throw a baseball."

The cat—that traitor—chose that moment to launch himself at a butterfly, crashing directly into my ankle. I stumbled, she grabbed my arm to steady me, and for three seconds her hand was warm against my skin.

"You okay?" she asked, and she was still holding my arm.

"Yeah," I said again, but this time I didn't sound strangled at all. "Yeah. I'm good."